A Series Of Fortunate Events
by Cotille S
Summary: A battered leather notebook, a circular birthmark and a last warning are all Sophia Luvese is left with when her uncle mysteriously disappears. Confused and lonely, a chance encounter with a tall, dark stranger one night changes the 18 year old's life forever. Who is Sherlock Holmes? And why does Sophia find herself so captivated by him and his secret? - Enjoy and please R&R!
1. You Will Meet a Tall, Dark Stranger

A/N This actually didn't even start out as a Sherlock fanfic, it was just a short story I was writing! A very different take on Sherlock, I know, but I hope to loosely base the story on the original plot. A lot of research went into to this, I wanted to get all the facts right! Anyway, hope you guys like it and please R&R!

**Disclaimer: *****I don't own anything (sadly), only my own character Sophie.***

* * *

**Chapter One  
**

The snow is falling gently around me, a soft blanket of white covering everything in its path. I reach out and catch one of the icy feathers in the palm of my hand, watching as it gradually fades to nothing. I shudder and pull my cream woollen Bramley hat from my pocket, my ears now turning an alarming shade of blue, and sigh as the hat provides much needed warmth. As much as I despise that pretentious school, their hats are undeniably cosy. I return my attention to the black leather notebook in my hand. It had belonged to my uncle Tobias, who was rarely seen without it. He would spend hours scribbling away into this mysterious notebook. But that was before he had disappeared, before he vanished into thin air. To this day I still remain the sole person who has any knowledge behind his disappearance, and it's all thanks to this battered leather book. This battered leather book full to the brim of everything one needs to know about.._Faeries_.

The Fae were a dangerous race, not to be messed with. He knew they were coming for him. I remember that last time I saw him, he had sounded panicked, on the verge of hysteria, ' I only trust you Sophia, you are the one with the true Sight, not me. Take my handbook and read it, study it, learn it off by heart if needs be – just be ready for when the come for you. Because they will.' And with that, he turned and stumbled into the forest, hands shaking. He was a liability, he knew too much. They feared he would expose them. Sadly though, that was not the case at all. He was just a man who believed in the impossible, the extraordinary in the ordinary and yearned for more knowledge. But it the end, his curiosity got the better of him.

Its getting dark now, the grey sky turning black. I stand up from the great tree trunk I was resting on and make my way back through the forest. The woods don't scare me. I've been visiting them since I was a little girl. I took my uncles words to heart and have read the book - many times at that - to try and make sense of it. Who are _they_? And why are they coming for me?

My footsteps are muffled by the thick layer of snow, so I know it is not me when a sudden_ crack _sounds through the air. I freeze, searching the trees in front of me for any sign of movement. _Crack! _I hear it again and this time it is followed by a cry. Startled, I creep towards the clearing, following the source of the noise. There, highlighted by the pale moonlight, lies a man who appears to be unconscious. He is naked from the waist up and three deep lashes cover the length of his white, muscular back. I run over and kneel at his side, gently turning him to face me. I am shocked, momentarily, by the his features. He looks human, at first glance, but his cheekbones are too sharp, his lips a perfect cupid's bow, all framed by a shock of curly dark hair.

I reach down and gently brush my fingers across his cheek. His eyes fly open at the contact, and I am left staring into their startlingly bright, icy depths. 'You..', he says, his voice barely a whisper, 'You..can see me...not..possible..'. His breathing is ragged, it hitches every time he inhales. 'Right now, that's not the problem', I say to him as he fights to keep his eyes open. 'The_ problem_ is how we are going to get you out of here.' He sits up, wincing as his wounds stretch tight over his skin. I lean over to inspect them, noticing that there are small silver studs embedded into the lacerations, as though they were attached to the tail of the whip. 'No don't', I whisper 'Don't hurt yourself even more', gently pushing him back down. His eyes flit towards my hand, as though something catching his attention. He pulls it for closer inspection. 'What is this?', he points to the circular birthmark on my wrist. 'It's my birthmark..' I reply warily, 'I've had it for as long as I can remember.' He narrows his eyes and looks at me, 'Who are you?' I swallow and stare back at him, 'S-Sophia. My name is Sophia. Sophia Luvese.' His eyes widen at my response. 'Give me your hand Sophia Luvese', he says as he outstretches his own. I hesitate before placing my small hand in his. He guides my hand over his back. 'I want you to place your hands just above my back, Sophia, concentrate now, and repeat this word "_Silyr".' _I try to steady my quivering hands. I calm myself, take a deep breath and whisper, '_Silyr'. _I feel a slight burning sensation in my wrist and gasp as a faint silver light begins to glow around my birthmark. I stare open-mouthed, my hands begin to shake. 'You're doing perfectly', he reassures me. I watch in astonishment as the light slowly begins to pull the sharp silver studs from his gashes, allowing them to close and heal completely.

As the last stud is pulled free, my hands fall and I sway, a sudden dizziness washing over me. 'Careful', he says as he takes my arms and steadies me. 'Did I do it?', I inquire weakly. 'Yes Sophia', he says softly, still holding onto my arms, 'You most certainly did.' I exhale and glance up at him, 'What did I just do there..?' He stares at me, opens his mouth to speak, decides otherwise, and looks away. I stare back dumbfounded. 'I do not believe it is my place to say', he eventually answers.

An owl screeches, shattering the night's silence. I jump, slowly becoming aware of my sitting on the forest floor, alone, with a half-naked man. I blush and think to myself, a mysterious man who I've only just met. If he even was that, a _man._

'What's your name?', I inquire hesitantly. He heaves himself up off the ground and proceeds to examine his now fully healed torso. Satisfactory with the results, he turns to me and simply states, 'Sherlock.' Unusual, I think to myself. I hesitate, and muster up all the courage I can, stating bluntly, 'You're not human, that much is obvious.' His eyebrows raise questioningly, but he says nothing. 'I mean, no human can heal themselves in a matter of seconds, and you refused to touch those silver iron studs, that's why I had to heal you', I continue, 'and once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.' He smirks at this, eyes glinting, 'And what, exactly, is the _truth_, Miss Luvese?' he questions. Looking him straight in the eye, 'You are a Fey', I conclude. He studies my face, 'Well, it seems you know more than you have been letting on', and strides past me out through the clearing.

I struggle to keep up with him, his long legs taking twice as big steps as my own. 'What did you mean earlier, when you said I could see you? Why were you surprised?' He looks down at me, 'Glamour.', he answers, 'I can change my appearance at will, make myself invisible if I wish. But I suppose you know all about that', he says, pointing to my leather notebook, 'or at least, your uncle did.' I turn to gaze up at him, shocked. 'You knew my uncle?' I ask incredulously. 'Knew him, no. Knew of him, yes.', he replies. 'Gave the Court quite a bit of trouble if I am to understand.' He glances down at me, 'And before you ask; no I do not know where he is. I make it my business not to get involved with matters concerning the Court.', he sniffs disdainfully.

I look at my feet, disheartened. 'You haven't answered my question though, how was I able to see you through your.._glamour_?' His brows knit together and he rubs his jaw, 'I'm asking myself the same question. Only Fey, or beings with Fey blood can see past glamour.' I frown, 'So, you're saying I have Fey blood? Is that why my birthmark suddenly glows now?', I ask sceptically. He shakes his head, 'I'm not saying anything right now, my brother is the person to ask, not me.'

We come up to a set of large brass gates, and behind it an aged stone mansion. I stop and spin around to face him, 'Sherlock, this mansion wasn't here two hours ago.' He raises his eyebrows. 'Has it been glamoured?' He nods at me. 'But if I can see through glamour, how is it that this mansion was still hidden from me?' 'Because it wanted to be', he simply stated. I roll my eyes. 'Then that means it's hidden from Fey as well.' 'Exactly' he replies, and pushes through the rusting gates. Confused, I linger outside the gates. 'I ought to be getting back, my sister will start to worry. She's ver-' he cuts me off, 'Yes I thought so,' he nodded. I stare at him, puzzled. 'Excuse-me?' He sighs, 'Well it had to be a sister, or maybe a young aunt.' I pause, still staring, 'Well she's my legal gua-' he interrupts me again, 'Legal guardian, yes I know.' My eyes widen in disbelief, 'How did you...' I trail off. He smirks, 'You have three tattoos, one behind your ear, one on your left wrist and the third on the nape of your neck. You have several piercings lining both ears and you are an avid smoker, judging by the slight discolouration on the tips of your fingers. A girl of eighteen, nineteen, attends Bramley, the only private school in this area. You come from a wealthy background, judging by the quality and brand of your clothes and your well spoken manner, although your appearance would suggest otherwise. A young girl with a lot to live up to, but no parents to keep her on the right path. Based on the fact that both mother and father are departed, I'm guessing the cause of death was a car crash.' he finishes. 'Wow', I whisper, 'That was incredible. Can all Fey do that?', I ask. 'No, they cannot', he replies with a slight smug smile. I blink away tears, surprised at the sudden wave of emotion. His eyes soften a fraction, 'I'm sorry, Sophia', he says. I dismiss it, waving my hand, 'It's fine, it happened three years ago.' I stand silently, unsure of what do to. Sherlock walks towards me, crossing his arms. 'I'm sure you have many questions you wish to be answered.' I laugh, 'Yes, that would be correct.' He gazes at me and sighs, 'I understand, but they cannot be answered tonight.' I nod my head. ' But I can give you this; expect to hear from me very shortly, Miss Luvese', and with that he spinsaround abruptly and strolls towards the stone mansion. I walk onto the pathway back to my own house, shaking my head in awe at the events that took place tonight.

* * *

Mycroft stares into the flames, absent-mindedly stroking the ring on his thumb. 'And you are sure it's her?', he asks Sherlock. 'Positive', Sherlock replies. Mycroft sighs, rubbing his chin, 'She's younger than I would have liked her to be, I didn't expect her to find out so soon.' He narrows his eyes and glances at Sherlock, 'Not that you helped in any way, _brother_', he snaps at Sherlock. 'You are well aware that I have no interest in providing the Court with my services!' Sherlock retorts angrily. 'Yes, that I am. And you are well aware that if you do not learn to hold your tongue, it will be more than three lashes next time!' Sherlock winces at the memory, but remains quiet. 'What are we to do about her?' he inquires eventually. Mycroft turns to look at his brother, 'You can leave that to me. But once I have informed her of everything she wishes to know, she is your responsibility from then on, understood?' Sherlock stares at his brother, and slowly nods his head. 'Fine', he says softly.


	2. New Beginnings

'Sophia Luvese! Have you been listening to a _word_ I say?', Mrs Watts yells at me, raising her arms in exasperation.

'Yes Mrs..' I lie, stifling a yawn and ignoring the sniggers.

Truth be told, my mind had only been focused on one individual all week, and that individual went by the name of Sherlock Holmes. I had been replaying our encounter over and over again in my head, trying to make some sense of it. I glance down at my birthmark, making sure Mrs Watts is interogating another student before inspecting it. The glow had faded, but there was still a faint whiteness to the mark. So I have magic now, I laugh to myself. I daren't tell Amy about it, she'd think I was going demented. There's only so much you can tell your friends, some things just need to remain a secret.

That night I had done some research, desperate to discover_ anything _that might explain the events. My uncles book, I noted with annoyance, failed to provide anything useful. Sure, I know how to_ kill_ Fey but what use is that if it turns out I actually_ am _one? Or half Fae, at least. And if my assumptions are correct, then a certain family member has _a lot_ of explaining to do - the only way a halfling can be created is if one of the biological parents was Fey.

'Hello..earth to Soph!?, I blink, startled at the face looming towards mine.

'Sorry Amy, was daydreaming again', I reply sheepishly.

'Ugh yeah the bell went, like, five minutes ago and you're still here glassy-eyed and drooling!'

'I was not_ drooling!', _I retort indignantly.

'Yeah well, whatever let's go already!', she whines and tugs at my arm.

I sigh and follow her flaming red hair. Amy is a natural redhead, but she's been putting this bright, fiery crimson colour in it because she wants to '_stand out'_. It actually looks pretty, with her wavy waist-length hair she almost resembles a mermaid. You could say that Amy is the _'it girl' _in school, with her slim, toned frame, clear green eyes and pretty face. Not that I'm plain in comparison, but she and I are very different. I'm a much smaller, petite size with mid-length chestnut hair. The one physical feature I am smug about are my eyes though, which are big and dark blue in colour.

We walk outside the school gates, Amy nattering away while I pretend to listen, offering a few _'yeah'_s and _'mhmm'_s. Amy stops suddenly, grabbing hold of my coat.

'Who's the creep with the umbrella and why is he staring at us?', she asks warily.

I turn to face in the direction she's pointing, meeting the stranger's eyes as I do. He leans against a shiny black Audi, it's windows tinted. I take in his expensively tailored suit, his glossy black leather shoes. He begins to cross the road, and I glance at Amy suspiciously.

'Miss Luvese, it's a pleasure', he smiles tightly and extends his hand.

I hesitate and reach out my own. He takes it and flips it over, revealing my birthmark. Amy folds her arms and taps her foot.

'And who, _exactly_, might you be?', she demands.

He looks at her with mild amusement, raising his eyebrow before turning back to me.

'Mycroft Holmes', he says, bowing slightly. 'I believe you had the pleasure of.._bumping_..into my brother last week.', he smirks. 'I have come to retrieve you.'

I widen my eyes in disbelief, 'You've what? I can't just leave with you! If my sister wer-', he interrupts me, 'That has been taken care of.'

I narrow my eyes, _'Taken care _of how, exactly?', glaring at him. Yes, I could definitely see that this man was related to Sherlock.

'Oh nothing serious', he says, waving his hand, 'just a small, temporary mind-wipe and she'll be right as ra-'

'TEMPORARY MIND WIPE?', I cry in disbelief. Mycroft glances nervously at stares from passers-by, taking hold of my arm.

'Now, Miss Luvese, we don't want to attract attention', he warns threateningly.

Amy grabs my other arm, pulling me back. 'You can't go with him Sophia, he's a nutjob!'

Mycroft, irritated at causing such a scene, looks Sophia in the eyes.

'You know that I'm the only person that can give you the answers you so_ desperately_ seek', he says carefully.

I frown and look at the ground and then back up at him. 'You're right', I say softly. Turning to Amy, I try to reassure her.

'Don't worry Amy it's fine, I know him.' I force a smile. I hate lying to her, but she seems to buy it. 'I'll call you, don't worry.'

I follow Mycroft to the car. The driver holds the door open and I climb in. 'Thank you, Jefferson', I hear Mycroft say. We sit at opposite sides of the seat, I stare out the window while Mycroft flicks a speck of invisible dirt from his jacket.

'Well _that_ did not go as smoothly as I had planned', he says, sighing.

'Where are we going?', I ask, genuinely curious. 'Surely not back to your mansion, thats's twelve miles outside London!'

'Quite right, my dear, the Holmes Estate is not ideal. No, I am taking you to Sherlock's townhouse in Baker's Street. You will be residing with him and Doctor Watson for the forseeable future', he says matter-of-factly.

I spin around to face him, 'Wait, you mean I'm going to be _living_ there?' I gasp, '_with_ Sherlock?'

A look of annoyance crosses his face. 'Yes I believe I've just said that.' He catches sight of my expression. 'Well don't look so alarmed! They're both very decent men - they have no intention _whatsoever _in harming a sixteen year old girl like yourself.'

'Eighteen', I growl at him. My small frame has always led others to believe I'm younger than I actually am – it is the absolute bane of my life.

'Apologies', he simpers and looks away.

'So.. are you Fey as well?', I ask, breaking the silence.

'Yes', he says stiffly.

I decide not to ask anymore questions, I don't want to seem nosey. After some time we pull up outside a white Georgian house, its black door reading _221B. _I step out of the car and make my way up the steps, when I remember - 'Mycroft, I don't have anything with me. No clothes, toiletries, bo-'

'Taken care of', he says dismissively.

He glances down at his Tourbillon watch. 'I'm afraid I must be off now.'

'But you said you had answers to give me', I point out.

'And I do, but the Queen does not take lightly to waiting', he says, frowning.

I look at him quizzically. 'I work for the government', he explains, checking his BlackBerry. 'Ah, this is rather urgent.' He strides back to the car and opens the door, but not before looking back at me – 'Until next time, Miss Luvese', and with that the black Audi speeds away.

* * *

I gather myself and take a breath before knocking on the door. I hear footsteps approach and am greeted with a kind face.

'Hello dear, you must be Sophia?' I nod as she ushers me inside. 'I'm Mrs Hudson, the landlady. I'm here whenever you need me, so don't be shy to ask for help.', she smiles warmly at me. 'I suspect this is quite a change for you, moving in with the boys.' I smile shaking my head, 'You have no idea.'

We stop outside the door on the first floor. 'This is Sherlock and Johns flat. You'll be staying upstairs, in the spare bedroom', she points above her head. 'But you'll be sharing the kitchen, bathroom and living area with the boys.'

Right on cue, the door is wrenched open and a man with greying hair, who I'm presuming is John, walks out with his back to us.

'...All I'm saying is that it wouldn't hurt to actually do the shopping _yourself_, Sherlock. I'm not the bloody maid!'

He turns abruptly, nearly knocking me over. He puts his hands out to steady me.

'Jesus! Oh my God I am so sorry! Are you okay?' he exclaims.

'I'm fine, thank you', I reassure him. I stretch out my hand and introduce myself, 'Sophia Luvese. And I'm guessing you're Doctor Watson?'

Realisation crosses his face. He takes my hand, shaking it, 'Of course, Sophia! Lovely to meet you! And please, call me John.'

He leads me into the living area - a large room with Victorian-like aesthetics - and clears his throat. Sherlock is lying horizontally on one of the sofas, eyes closed with his fingertips touching and resting under his chin.

'Sherlock', John says, a hint of annoyance in his voice. 'Sherlock, kindly vacate your mind palace and welcome our new flatmate.'

I stifle a giggle, _mind palace? _Still though, even with his eyes closed and wearing pyjamas he manages to look painfully beautiful.

His eyes fly open, he sits up and turns to face me with inhuman speed. 'Well, Miss Luvese, what a pleasure it is to see you again. I gather you - John?', he says, narrowing his eyes. 'Why are you making that pained expression?'

Confused, I look up at John to see that he did indeed look rather uncomfortable.

'I'm just going to apologise in advance for his _"deductions" _Sophia. They've been known to reduce grown men to tears', he sighs, exasperated.

I smile, laughing quietly. 'No need to apologise John, he's already_ "deduced"_ me.'

'Yes _thank you_ for that, John. I hadn't intended on doing it anyway', Sherlock stands, stretching.

'_That'd be a first.._', John mutters under his breath. I stare at them, fighting back the urge to laugh. They're bickering like a elderly married couple. Sherlock strides over to where I'm standing, towering over me.

'God you are a tiny thing, aren't you?', he says, frowning slightly.

'Problem?' I ask, raising my eyebrows.

John looks at me apologetically. 'You'll notice that everything he says, whether intentionally or unintentionally, _will_ sound like an insult.'

Sherlock ignores him, walking past us and stopping in front of several boxes. 'I assume you wish to unpack and.._settle in_ now?', he asks me.

I stare un-enthusiastically at the boxes, in no mood to unpack. 'I suppose so..'. I glance at my birthmark wistfully - if only there was some spell to sort luggage.

Sherlock notices this, sighs and turns his attention back to the boxes.

'_Edro'_, he says waving his hand lazily at the boxes.

To my astonishment, the boxes spring open. I hold my breath and look cautiously at John, gauging his reaction.

'_Show-off'_, he mutters and rolls his eyes.

Obviously, John was in on the secret too.

I turn back to Sherlock, who is now studying the items in one box while making them levitate. He grabs hold of a particularly racy set of black lace underwear, raising his eyebrows. I feel my face burning underneath my fringe, and silently curse Amy for persuading me to buy them.

'Let's not pry, shall we?', I hastily mumble as I swipe my underwear from his hand.

John clears his throat, slightly embarrassed. 'Yes well, I'm sure Sophia will want some privacy now to settle in and do er- whatever girls do', he finished awkwardly.

'Yes', Sherlock agrees, 'go take a bath. Isn't that what girls do when they're stressed?'

I stare at them, rolling my eyes. They really had no clue how to act around an eighteen year old girl. I sigh, _this should be interesting_.


	3. Secrets

'Morning Sophia!', John greets me brightly.

I yawn and smile in return. Trying to get to sleep last night was hell. As if it wasn't difficult enough to sleep in completely new surroundings, Sherlock had decided that three am was an _apt_ time to practice his _Paganini Caprice No. 24 in A minor_. If I wasn't so pissed off with him I would have been impressed – he plays the violin exceptionally well.

'Tea, coffee? Toast?', he offers me.

'Just black coffee please, thanks.'

I needed all the energy I could get if I was to stay conscious today.

We sit in silence for a while, me sipping my coffee while he butters toast. After some time he clears his throat.

'So, Sophia, how is it that you know Sherlock?'

I swallow my mouthful of coffee, not surprised that Sherlock neglected to tell John himself.

'It's actually rather a funny story,' I joke, 'He was wounded and unconscious in the forest behind my house, and I..helped him..'I say, unsure of how to finish.

'When you say_ help_,' John asks, his eyebrows raised, 'do you mean in a magical or non-magical sense?'

'..Magical,' I say finally, realising how crazy I sound.

He stretches his hand out – 'May I see your birthmark?'

I look at him warily.

'Don't worry,' he smiles reassuringly, 'I'm a doctor.'

I place my hand in his and he turns it over gently. My birthmark seems to have a permanent faint white glow now, as if the magic is charging, like electricity.

'How did you meet Sherlock?' I ask in return.

'Mate of mine introduced us. I was looking for a flatmate, and so was he. We moved in to Baker Street and the rest, as they say, is history.' He smiles jokingly.

'And you weren't put off with him being.._Fey_..?' I ask bluntly.

'Well, I obviously didn't believe it at fist, did I? Thought he was making fun of me – _soldier back from war, his brains scrambled',_ he laughs.

'Him and Mycroft would talk for _hours_ about the _Seelie_ and_ Unseelie_ Courts, the _Kings_ and _Queens_ – I thought they were both going round the bend.' He shakes his head. 'One night, Sherlock was bugging me to use to my laptop and I replied with my usual, _"use your own",_ when he mumbled some gibberish and before I knew it, the laptop had zoomed from my knees and onto his! It was a shock at first, I'll admit, and it took some getting used to but I'm okay with it now. It's who is', John says simply, shrugging his shoulders.

It is at that moment that Sherlock marches in, phone in hand.

'That was Mycroft.' He says to me. 'He's coming over in a few minutes to discuss some matters with you. Finish your coffee and get dressed, he despises waiting.' Sherlock then turns on his heel and strides out of the kitchen.

'_Well good morning to you too'_, I mumble and slide off the stool.

Five minutes later I'm back downstairs, sitting on the purple armchair in the living room, while both Holmes brothers stand over me.

'Before we tell you anything Sophia, you must first inform_ us_ what_ you_ know about the Fey', Mycroft instructs me.

I swallow and look from him to Sherlock.

'Not much,' I admit. 'I know that there are two types of Fey - those who belong to the Seelie Court and those who belong to the Unseelie Court. The Seelie Court is good, the Unseelie is bad. I know that, even though they appear to look human, they are most certainly not. They have inhuman speed, strength, healing and magical abilities..' I bite my lip, trying to remember what I read in my uncle's notebook.

'Oh! And they can't touch iron because it burns them.' I shrug my shoulders. 'That's the extent of my knowledge I'm afraid.'

Mycroft appraises me.

'Well, it seems you've got the general gist..Now what is it you want to ask us?'

Where to start? I take a breath, gathering my thoughts.

'Well first off, what am I and why can I, or my birthmark to be exact, do magic?'

Mycroft sighs, taking the seat opposite me.

'It appears that you have Fey blood running through your veins - how that is I am still unsure', he says, frowning. 'Tell me, do you have any foreign ancestry?'

I think for a moment – 'Yeah, my mum's parents are Irish. But what does that have to do with it?'

Mycroft sits up straighter. 'Irish? Well that explains it then.'

He notices my confusion.

'The _Tuatha Dé Danann_ are the Irish.._version_ - for want of better word – of the Fey. They, the men especially, have been known to carry out intimate relations with humans, resulting in the birth of a hafling – half human, half Fey.'

I raise my eyebrows, sniggering.

'So you're saying that my Granny had a bit of a fling with a Fey and got pregnant? Does that mean that Grandad wasn't actually Mum's _biological_ father, some random Fey was?' I ask incredulously.

Mycroft nods slowly, rubbing his chin.

'Yes, that is the only explanation ', he concludes.

I stand up, trying to piece this together.

'So, you're telling me that my Mum was a _halfling_, and because of her I have Fey blood in me?'

'Yes', Mycroft replies more determinedly, 'that is exactly what I'm saying.'

I sit back down, shaking my head in wonder.

'All this time, she never mentioned anything. Had she even known?'

A sudden realisation pops into my head.

'What about Alison, my older sister? Is she like me too?' I ask excitedly.

Mycroft shakes his head.

'Because your Mother was half Fey, there was only enough Fey blood for one child. She did not decide which one of you it was passed down to, the process happens randomly.'

I lower my head, disheartened slightly.

'As for your magic', Mycroft continues, 'your birthmark acts as a sort of _porthole, _channelling your flow of magic. True Fey do not require such methods, their source of magic is more corporeal.'

I nod slowly, trying to take it all in.

'So, do I have to follow Fey rules as well? Do I belong to a Court?'

'Unfortunately yes, our laws do apply to you and you must abide them. As for the Court you belong to, the only way to discover that is a visit to the Druids', he says with a sigh.

Sherlock, who had been silent up until now, stares at his brother in shock.

'The _Druids_? Surely we don't still rely on them in_ this_ day and age?'

Mycroft regards him with annoyance.

'Well unless you plan on _visiting_ every member of both the Seelie and Unseelie Irish Courts, there is no other option', he replies haughtily. 'The Druids would merely need to _glance_ at one drop of her blood and could tell her her entire family's history'.

I start at the mention of blood.

'Woah, don't I get a say in this!?'

Both Sherlock and Mycroft just look at me before replying – 'No'.

_Great_, I mutter to myself.

After that Sherlock and Mycroft begin to argue about what way would be best to approach the Druids. In no mood to listen to their childish quarrels, I slip out of the room in search of John.

* * *

It is after midnight. John has retired to his bedroom. I stay up, curious to find out more about Sherlock.

'Sherlock?' I ask after a moments deliberation.

'Hmm?' He replies, his mind somewhere else.

'What Court do you and Mycroft belong to?'

He gazes at me before answering.

'The Seelie', he says finally, 'though I do not consider myself to_ belong_ to anything. They have been requiring my services for some time now, but I turn them down each time.'

I detect the irritation in his voice.

'Is that why you were punished, that night I met you?' I ask hesitantly.

'They do not take refusal well', he says darkly.

I hurry to change the subject.

'What sort of _services_ are you talking about?'

He pauses, considering his reply.

'I suppose you could say I have certain.._qualities_ that other Fey do not.' He turns to face me, 'I have the ability to store a vast amount of knowledge in my head'.

I laugh at this.

'So that's how you did it - _deduced me_'.

'Besides', he says, waving his hand, 'I find better use of my knowledge here, in the human world.'

'What so, you're like a detective?' I ask.

'_Consulting_ Detective', he corrects me.

We're silent for a while, me staring at the fire while he thinks.

'You've taken your piercings out', he points out suddenly.

I touch my ears, surprised he noticed.

'Yes, I did. They were annoying me, to be honest. I only got them to annoy Alison', I admit sheepishly.

He stares at me for a while, and I start to feel self-conscious.

'Your eyes', he finally says, 'you have Fey eyes – big and blue. Dark blue'.

He frowns slightly at this, as if bothered about something.

I blush, flattered but unsure whether it was a compliment.

'Thanks,' I say anyway. 'Do all Fey have blue eyes?'

'More or less, yes. They vary from light to dark.'

I yawn, my lack of sleep starting to take its toll.

'Well, I'm going to head upstairs', I stand up and stretch, 'I'm exhausted.'

'Goodnight, Sherlock.'

He tears his gaze away from the flames.

'Goodnight, Sophia', he says softly.


	4. Revelations

**A/N: Just a quick note - I'm not from England, so I'm just going to apologise if Epping Forest is a _ridiculously_ long way away from London city!** **Hope you like the chapter and please leave a review! **

* * *

Sophia was many things – kind, hard-working, passionate.

But patient was not one of them.

'No, no, no!' Sherlock cries, running his hands through his hair in desperation.

'For the hundredth time, you can't just _say _the incantation! Magic isn't a word, it's a_ thing_. You have to _visualise _it, want to _make_ it happen.'

I lift my head from my hands to glare at him.

'I. Am. Trying. It's easy for you to say! You're what, _500_ years old?'

He throws me a dirty look.

'_176 _years old.' He snaps at me. 'I'm considered to be part of the _younger_ generation.'

I roll my eyes.

'Well, either way, you still have much more experience then me. You were _born_ with it for godssake!'

He sighs, and paces the room.

'Try to remember back to the night you healed me – how you felt, your determination. Now channel that same emotion, _will _the book to rise.'

I take a shaky breath and focus on '_The Picture of Dorian Gray'_, staring fixedly at it. I imagine the book weightless, like a feather. Raising my hand slowly, I whisper-

'_Eria'. _

A clear, white light beams from my birthmark. The book quivers, and gently begins to rise. I refuse to look at Sherlock, not wanting to break the connection. I sense him behind me, urging me on.

'That's it'. He whispers softly. 'You're doing it Sophia, keep concentrating.'

The book levitates about thirty centimetres off the ground before I start to feel light-headed. My arm begins to weaken, and it falls back down to my side. The book drops with a soft _thump_.

I take a seat, too dizzy to stay upright.

'How was that?' I ask weakly.

'Very well for your first try'. Sherlock says encouragingly.

'Why do I feel so light-headed? Does this usually happen?'

'Every Fey has their limits.' Sherlock says, walking over to the bookshelf. 'Because you are only half Fey, and a beginner, your ability to practice magic is not as developed. You will gain strength over time, naturally, the more experienced you become.'

He takes a rather large, dusty book from the shelf and hands it to me.

'This book will become your most valued possession. It contains every Fey incantation ever known.'

He motions at me to open the book, and I turn to a random page.

'See here', he points, '_Gala_ – meaning grow. The "t" stands for "_torna"_, which means difficult. An easier incantation –_ hollen_, to close –' He flicks back to the beginning of the book – 'has the letter "r" above it, standing for "_rhea_", meaning easy'.

I inspect the book with distaste. It's got be to be at least 500 pages long. The cover is brown and leather-bound. The word _"Lûth"_ is written across the front, framed by a delicate gold foliage pattern.

I look up at Sherlock, shaking my head.

'This is going to take _years_ to learn.' I grumble.

'Better start now then.' He says with a smirk.

I groan and search for my cigarettes in my leather handbag.

'Do you mind?' I ask Sherlock as I pull one free from the silver foil.

'By all means,' He replies, sitting in the armchair opposite me.

I place the cigarette between my lips and light it, inhaling. I notice Sherlock watching me.

'I know, I know,' I sigh, 'It's a horrible habit I'm sorry.'

He grins and pulls back the right sleeve of his shirt, revealing three nicotine patches.

'Don't I know it.'

At that moment, John walks in, sniffing the air. He rounds on Sherlock.

'Sherlock! I can't believe you found them! I swear to God, I've run out of –'

He frowns and spins around, realising that I'm the culprit.

'Oh, Sophia, you smoke? Right, well then –' he says awkwardly.

I nod apologetically.

'Sorry, I'll put it out now.'

He raises his hand. 'No don't, I'm not giving out to you. Just be careful around him,' he motions towards Sherlock, 'they'll be gone like that.' He snaps his fingers.

'I've _quit_.' Sherlock insists waspishly.

John snorts and rolls his eyes, returning to the kitchen.

'I bought Thai for dinner – that okay with you Sophia?'

'Sure.' I've never eaten Thai before, but I smile anyway. In fact, I don't think I have ever eaten a take-away of _any_ kind. Back at home we had Thomas - the chef - cook all of our meals. Alison is a vegan, so everything we ate was organic and healthy. _Rabbit food_, I called it. I can't blame her though, she's the reason I've managed to stay slim. If it wasn't for her, I would have had Thomas making me chocolate cake morning, noon and night.

We eat dinner at seven. Well, I say _we_, but I just mean John and myself. Sherlock drinks a cup of coffee instead, insisting last night's dinner will keep him going. He checks his watch and stands from the table.

'It's almost time now,' He says to me. 'We should be able to reach them after twilight.'

I look up from my noodles in confusion.

'What? - Where are we going? Who's _them_?'

'The Druids. We need to find out just exactly who you are – sooner rather than later.' He explains.

I bite my lip nervously.

'O-kay then..'

'Don't be scared, they won't harm you if they know you're part supernatural being.'

I gulp. 'That doesn't really make me feel any better.'

He strides towards his bedroom door, looking back at me.

'Oh and try and make yourself look a bit more.._ Fey_. They don't mix with humans.'

'And how do you suppose I do _that?_' I ask indignantly.

He sighs. '_I don't know_...Put on a white dress maybe?' And he shuts his bedroom door.

I groan and glance at John, who pats my arm.

'Well,_ this_ should be interesting.'

* * *

I stand in front of my mirror, inspecting my handiwork. Luckily, I played an angel in my school's Christmas show last year, so the white dress was easy to find. It comes just below my knees, white silk covered with a layer of chiffon. The arms are long-sleeved and lace. It's quite pretty, actually.

I left my hair hang loose around my shoulders with a few tiny braids underneath the top layer. I applied a pale, shimmering colour to my eyelids, and a light layer of mascara. My eyelashes are naturally long and dark, so my eyes stand out anyway.

Satisfied with my appearance, I slip on my pale pink ballet flats and make my way downstairs.

Sherlock is waiting for me at the end of the staircase. He turns around, and takes in my new attire. He nods with approval, smiling.

'Perfect.' He says and takes my hand, leading me down the last two steps. He hails a taxi and we hop in.

'Epping Forest please.' Sherlock instructs the taxi driver.

The man looks sceptically at Sherlock, but continues to drive. I'm not surprised - who _would _be wanting to take a leisurely stroll in the forest at this hour?

'_Quildë_.' Sherlock whispers under his breath.

I glance at him, alarmed.

'_What did you do_?' I hiss.

'Just a muting spell, I don't want him eaves-dropping.' He turns to me, 'Don't look at me like that.' He says. 'He'll be fine once I reverse it.'

'Now', he says, clasping his hands together, 'about the Druids. They are a very tempermental people, and only give time to those of_ supernatural_ being. If they ask you any questions, speak only the truth. They could smell a lie from miles away.'

I stare out the window, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in my stomach. _It's for my own good_, I try reassuring myself, _I'll finally know who I am. _

We begin to approach the forest - it's dark, ominous shape looming towards us.

'_Hlón._' Sherlock whispers to the driver before getting out.

It's dark now. I shiver and wrap my arms around myself, my thin dress useless against the cold.

'Take my hand' Sherlock tells me. 'My sight is much better than yours in the dark.'

I place my hand in his and we make our way through the forest. I stumble over the tree roots, struggling to keep up with Sherlock's fast pace. We walk for roughly ten minutes, before happening upon a clearing. A large stone fort stands in the middle, the bright moonlight shining directly into the centre.

Sherlock stops walking and faces me.

'Once we enter the stone fort, they will know we're here. Stay by my side at _all_ times and let me do the talking.'

Still grabbing onto his hand, we approach the stone fort. Once inside, the strangest feeling washes over me – I begin to hear voices, whispering, gradually getting louder. I look up at Sherlock, alarmed.

'_The voices – can you hear that?_' I say under my breath.

'Yes,' he replies, 'it's them'.

A figure suddenly appears in the clearing, followed by another and another until there's seven standing before us. They are dressed in long, white robes each with a hood covering their faces. Sherlock lets go of my hand and steps forward.

'Good evening.' He addresses them. 'I hope I have not disturbed you too greatly?'

They remain silent. He gestures back towards me;

'I have with me a halfling who desires to know her ancestry. I was hoping that you could offer us some assistance?'

The figure in the front lifts his hood from his face and looks at me.

'This is the halfling girl you speak about?'

Sherlock nods his head.

The Druid walks past him and towards me. I throw Sherlock a look of fear, and he returns to my side.

The man takes my face in his hands, tilting it upwards. He turns to Sherlock;

'Were her eyes not evidence enough?'

'I have to be sure.' Sherlock replies quietly.

'Very well.' The Druid says, turning back to me. 'We will need a blood sample.'

Sherlock reaches inside his shirt pocket and pulls out a small pin. He takes my hand and pricks the top of my index finger. My eyes widen as the Druid takes my hand and presses the finger to his lips, tasting the blood.

He locks eyes with me before turning to Sherlock.

'Her blood is dark.'

I look up at Sherlock, panicked.

'What? Sherlock what does that mean?'

Sherlock sighs and looks sadly at me.

'It's what I thought.' He says softly. 'You are of the Unseelie Court'.

I shake my head slowly, refusing to believe it.

'No..it can't be..'

The Druid studies me carefully before speaking.

'While you may belong to this Court, child, it does not determine the type of person you choose to become. It holds no power over the goodness in your heart.'

I open my mouth, but am unable to speak. Sherlock thanks the Druids before taking my hand and leaving the stone fort.

I remain silent on the journey home, lost in my thoughts.

We arrive back at 221B just after midnight. I start to make my way up the stairs, but Sherlock takes my arm, pulling me back.

'What the Druid said is true, Sophia. _You_ are the only one to decide your future.'

I swallow, trying to hold back the tears, but one spills over and rolls down my cheek.

'I'm not a bad person. ' I insist, shaking my head.

He reaches out and softly brushes the tear from my face.

'I know Sophia, I know.'

We walk upstairs and into the living room. Sherlock sits down on the sofa in front of the fire. I take a seat beside him, curling up and watching as the embers fade to black. I can feel my eyelids dropping as I try and fight the fatigue, but drowsiness overcomes me and I succumb to sleep.


	5. Never Speak to Stangers

**A/N: So this is a shorter chapter, (I hope you don't mind!) but I felt it needed a chapter of it's own. 10 points to Gryffindor for whoever guesses who the 'stranger' is :D Enjoy and please review!**

_Black. _

_All around me is darkness. I cannot move, scared of what I might meet if I do. I know I'm not alone. I can sense it - another presence standing behind me, watching, waiting. I try to clear my head, inhaling deeply. _

'_Don't be afraid.' _

_I stiffen at the sound of the voice. I know it, it seems so..familiar. It couldn't be though..He had disappeared, I was never going to see him again. _

'_It's okay Sophia, its me, Toby.' _

_I slowly turn around, following the voice. _

'_Tobias? Is that really you?' I whisper, my voice trembling. _

'_Yes, it's me. Don't be frightened, I'm here to talk to you.' _

'_Where are we..and why can't I see you? Is this a dream?' I ask uncertainly. _

'_This is your dream Sophia, if you wish to see me, then just say so.' _

"_I need to see"– I say to myself. A sudden, blinding light fills the room. I blink and stumble backwards. I begin to inspect my surroundings as my eyes begin to adjust. We're standing in what appears to be a greenhouse, it's glass windows reflecting the light. Tobias stands in front of me, a light smile playing on his lips. _

'_I knew you'd pay attention if it was me.' He grins. _

'_Toby, why am I here? What do you mean I would "pay attention"?' I ask confusedly. _

'_Your mother taught you well, Sophia.' He says, smirking. _

_I tilt my head questioningly. _

'_You never speak to strangers.' He begins to laugh now, but it doesn't sound like Toby anymore. It's harsher, almost mocking. _

_I glance at the door behind me, panicking. I look back to see Toby shift in appearance – his hair and eyes grow darker, morphing in to a completely different man. A stranger. _

'_Oh Sophia. My dear, little Sophia. Don't you recognise me?' His Irish accent is cold and unfamiliar. _

'_Who the hell are you and why are you in my dream?' I shout. _

'_Now, now Soph, that's no way to talk to family.' He sings, waging his finger. _

'_You're no family.' I say venomously. 'I've never seen you in my life!' _

'_Well,' he says, inclining his head, 'that is true. But we are family, nonetheless. It's in our blood.' _

_I turn cold at this. Some of what he says is making sense, I realise. _

_He begins to clap slowly, and strolls towards me. _

'_Good girl, you're getting it now!' _

_He's right in front of my now, a smirk stretched across his face. _

'_And can I just say, what a good girl you really are. Making friends with Sherlock Holmes, just as I hoped you would.' He grins dangerously, his pupils dilating, making his eyes darker than they already are. _

'_What do you want with Sherlock?' I demand, folding my arms. _

_He just shakes his head and leans in grabbing my hand. I feel a sharp burn on my palm and gasp, trying to pull free of his iron hold. _

'_Grandpa is so proud.'He whispers in my ear. _

_My blood turns to ice at this, my arms dropping lifelessly to my side. _

'_Wha-' I try to splutter, as a swirl of black mist envelopes him, and he disappears into thin air. _

* * *

I wake up with a start, my body shaking and drenched in sweat. I'm still lying on the sofa in the living room. I call out, but the flat appears to be empty. _It's just a dream, it's just a dream_, I say to myself. I feel a faint tingling in my hand, and look down to check it.

My heart stops. There, imprinted on the palm of my hand is the letter 'M'.


	6. Marked

**A/N: Aaand the 10 points go to **** Second daughter of Eve ! Enjoy and please review.**

* * *

'Like I said Sophia, it _was_ just a dream. We can't look too deeply into it.'

I shake my head, unconvinced. 'If it was_ just_ a dream, _then why do I have the letter M tattooed onto the palm of my hand_?'

Sherlock placed his hands beneath his chin, thinking.

'Here Soph, this should help.' John sits down beside me, a cooling gel in his hand. He gently spreads it over the M, soothing the burning pain.

'I feel like a branded sheep that has just been sent off to the market.' I grumble.

'Well it mustn't be_ that_ strange, you do have three tattoos.' John says pointedly.

'Yes but I chose to get those tattoo's. I wasn't marked against my will.'

Sherlock looks up, 'What are those triangle things anyway?'

I throw him a look. 'They're not _triangle things_, they're the symbols of the four elements.'

'Yes but you only have three.' Sherlock points out, raising his eyebrows.

I roll my eyes. 'Well I still have to get the earth symbol.'

I stretch my hand out. 'This one on my wrist, the triangle with a horizontal line going through, that's air. The upside- down triangle behind my ear is water and the normal triangle on the nape of my neck is fire.'

'What made you get them?' John inquires.

I look down, embarrassed. 'It's silly, really. I had a dream once that I could control all four elements. In it, I had the tattoos in the exact same place. When I woke up, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was _meant_ to have them..' I trail off.

I look up. 'Okay, you can laugh now.'

Sherlock frowns. 'Why would we laugh at you?'.

'Because most people do. They say it's stupid.'

'Yes well we're not most people.' Sherlock rubs his chin. 'It's a strange dream, all the same. Let's hope you weren't prophesying your future.' He says jokingly, but his eyes look troubled.

* * *

I lick the tips of my index finger and thumb and turn the page.

'_Losta_ – to induce sleep.' _That could come in handy_, I think and fold the top corner down.

Sherlock sighs and clears his throat. 'I would ask you to_ kindly not defile_ the book.'

At that same moment, a middle-aged man with greying hair rushes into the room.

'We have another.' He says, breathlessly. 'Holland Park. Male, twenty-six years of age. Looks like he shot himself.'

Sherlock nods. 'Thats the fifth one this month.'

'Will you come?' The man asks almost pleadingly.

'Johns away for the weekend. Whose on forensics?' Sherlock asks.

The man looks reluctant to answer. 'Anderson.' He finally says.

Sherlock sighs and looks at me. 'How would you feel about being my assistant for the day?'

I raise my eyebrows. 'You're_ what_? Do you mean do I want to 'help' you on an investigation while you insult my lack of forensic knowledge and boss me around?'

The man laughs at this. 'I like her.'

Sherlock waves his hand between us. 'Sophia, Lestrade. Lestrade, Sophia.'

Lestrade walks over to shake my hand. 'Pleasure to meet you Sophia.'

'So are you coming or not?' Sherlock asks impatiently.

I bite my lip, torn. I don't want to give Sherlock the satisfaction of out-smarting me, but on the other hand, I don't want to miss out on an actual crime-scene investigation.

'Alright, I'm in.' I say rather reluctantly.

We arrive at a posh looking house in Holland Park. Two flights of stairs up, I'm kneeling on the floor, trying to prop a dead man onto the kitchen chair so Sherlock can "_measure the distance between it and the window, obviously_."

'Victim was shot at 5:43 pm. Neighbours heard the noise, went round to check, saw the body and then called the police.' Lestrade reads, leafing through the file.

Sherlock ignores him, instead walking over to the body to inspect. He cuts the mans shirt open, exposing the bullet wound on his chest, right on his heart. He runs his hands over the wound, whispering. I gasp when I see the mark.

Thin black lines radiate from the bullet hole in the centre, like veins. They disappear as soon as they appeared.

'That's what I thought.' I hear Sherlock mutter to himself.

He turns around to face Lestrade. 'What you see is a suicide case, Lestrade, nothing more.'

Lestrade frowns. 'You're sure?' He asks.

Sherlock nods. 'Positive. The bullet wound goes straight through his heart, resulting in immediate death. That, and the very suggestive anti-depressants in his bathroom cupboard.'

Lestrade nods and begins to walk out of the room. 'Well, whatever you say.'

In the taxi home I look up at Sherlock.

'Why did you lie to him? You and I both know that wasn't suicide.'

Sherlock sighs. 'Because I guessed he wouldn't have exactly believe me if I told him a member of the Unseelie Court tracked him down and shot him with an iron-laced bullet.' He says sarcastically.

'Is that what the black lines were?' I ask.

'Yes, that would be the iron leaking into his bloodstream. It is invisible to the mortal eye.'

Before I get out of the cab, I lean forward.

'_Demad sillumë_.' I whisper to the driver.

Sherlock turns around. 'When did you learn that?' He asks, impressed.

'Today.' I reply, rather smugly.

We make our way up the stairs and into the flat, Sherlock still absorbed in the case.

I gasp as a shooting pain suddenly runs up my arm. I turn my hand over to see the M on my palm glowing red.

'Sher-' I try to say, but I falter as weakness overwhelms me. The last thing I see is Sherlock turning in surprise as I hit the floor.

* * *

_I'm in a large sitting room. The wallpaper and curtains match, a deep shade of red. Behind me is a big open fire, it's heat filling the room. _

'_Hi sweetie.' _

_I spin around, that voice sounding all too familiar. _

_There he is, sitting behind a mahogany desk, dark eyes glinting. _

'_So what, you can just summon me whenever you want?' I glare at him. _

'_Yeah pretty much.' He replies, smirking. _

'_What do you want with me?' _

'_What, isn't a grandfather allowed to check up on his granddaughter once in a while? Make sure she's being a good little girl.' _

_I grimace. 'Grandfather? Please, you don't look old enough to be my father.' _

'_Why, thank you.' He grins, flashing perfectly white teeth. _

'_No, the real reason you're here,' He gets up and walks towards me, 'Is because you need to be with your people, where you belong.' _

'_I don't belong anywhere!' I shout. 'And certainly not some evil Faerie court!' _

'_Now, now. No need for shouting.' His eyes flash dangerously. 'And you will do what I say, or I'll drag you there, screaming, myself.' _

_My hands begin to shake and I try to hold back the tears. 'Who are you?' _

_He laughs. 'I am many things; a terrorist to some, a freedom fighter to others. But you can call me Moriarty. Or Grandpa.' He frowns and shakes his head. 'No, scratch that, just call me Moriarty.' _

_He strolls back to the desk and begins writing something on parchment. 'Don't fret though, I don't need you in Court just yet. Right now, I need you to stay right where you are.' He looks up at me. 'And continue to make Sherlock Holmes fall in love with you.' _

_I start at this, shaking my head. 'What do you mean make Sh-' But once again, I only manage half of the sentence before the dizziness engulfs me. _

* * *

'Oh thank God.' I hear a voice whisper in relief.

I slowly blink my eyes open. I'm lying on the sofa, an ice pack wrapped around my hand. Sherlock is staring down at me, concern etched across his face.

I look up at him and utter a single word.

'Moriarty.'

* * *

**(A/N) Dictionary:**

**Losta - sleep **

**Demad sillumë - forget this hour**


	7. You Shall Go To The Ball

**A/N: I rather enjoyed writing this chapter. This is a link to a picture of the dress Sophia wore: ** image . dhgate albu _ 304301689 _ 00 - 1 . 0x0 / slim - black - formal - evening - dresses - backless . jpg** (Just take out all the spaces) It's so pretty and I wanted you guys to see it! Anyway, enjoy and please leave reviews (they really make my day)!  
**

* * *

Moriarty stares into her deep obsidian eyes.

_Only a few more months_, he thinks wryly to himself, _and you'll be begging for death. _

'Kingslayer, we know about the girl. She is of your blood, and therefore must be initiated into the Court.' The beautiful woman tilts her head questioningly. 'Or do you not wish for her to join her true people?'

Moriarty smirks inwardly_. This should be good_.

'My most gracious Queen,' He kneels down on one leg. 'There is nothing I want more than to see my granddaughter in the place she rightfully belongs.' He frowns, feigning disappointment. 'But certain obstacles seem to have arisen..'

Morwen leans forward on her glistening throne. 'Go on.'

'She is under the guidance of a certain Mr. Holmes, and is unwilling to leave his side.' Moriarty steps forward. 'With your permission, I would wait another while before trying to take her with me. She was most adamant about staying the last time we spoke.'

Morwen stares at him, sighing eventually. 'Sherlock Holmes. I should have known he would be involved somehow. Do what you must Kingslayer, but do not forget you will have to bring her at some point, with or without her permission.'

_I don't intend to_, he says to himself as he walks out of the lavish throne room.

* * *

'John, please! I hate doing these things on my own.' I whine at him as I tug on his sweater.

John, in the middle of updating his blog, slams the laptop shut.

'Alright, alright! If it'll shut you up.' He complains.

'Thank you John.' I bat my eyelashes at him and flounce from the room, leaving him rather embarrassed.

* * *

We step into the tattoo parlour and take a seat in the waiting area. John shifts uncomfortably in his chair, eyeing the needles.

'Sophia Luvese?' A short woman with white-blonde hair approaches me. 'If you'll just follow me.'

I jump from my seat. 'Back in a few.' I say to John excitedly.

**~ 10 minutes later ~ **

John looks up from his phone, startled. 'That was quick.'

I flash him a grin. 'It was only a tiny thing. You wanna see?' I lift my top up just far enough to show him. It's on the side of my ribs just under my bra strap.

'Ah so, the upside down triangley thing with a line crossing through is earth?' He asks.

'Exactly.' I respond and pull my top back down.

We exit the parlour and are greeted by a blast of icy winter wind. Shivering, I pull my coat in around me. I notice something out of the corner of my eye, and bring my tattooed wrist up to my face. _Wha-_ , I say to myself, _is that glowing_!?

All of a sudden a familiar sensation washes over me.

'Oh no –' I manage to groan before I hit the hard cement in a cold faint.

I regain consciousness, once more, on the long sofa in front of the fire. I sit up, regretting it immediately as my head starts to spin and burns with searing pain.

'Good, you're awake.' I hear Sherlock say as he strides into the room.

'How did I get here?' I ask weakly. Holding my head, I touch the icepack attached to the back of my head.

'John carried you up. Careful, you gave your skull a right bang when you fell.' Sherlock shakes his head wearily. 'We really have to sort out your fainting problem.'

'I don't do it on purpose.' I mumble, slightly embarrassed by the thought of John carrying my up the stairs.

Sherlock leans forward, hands resting on his chin. 'What did he want this time?'

'No, it wasn't Moriarty this time.' I sigh. 'You're going to think I'm crazy, but I think my tattoos did it?'

'Your _what_?' Sherlock asks incredulously.

'Right before I fainted, my tattoo was _glowing_. Like my birthmark when I use magic.'

Sherlock sits speechless. 'I really have no idea in the _slightest_ how that's possible. You must have been weak after that needle scratching across your skin and hallucinated it. That's the only logical explanation.' He says determinedly.

I narrow my eyes, but decide to continue no further in the matter. 'Alright then, if you say so.'

* * *

I flop onto my bed exhaustedly. After a full day of practicing magic, I am left drained. I begin to curl up into a ball, when I feel I'm lying on top of something. Pulling the source of discomfort out from underneath my back, I look at the cream envelope confused. _Miss Sophia Luvese_ is written elegantly in red ink across the centre. Curious, I pry the letter open.

_Dear Sophia, _

_You are cordially invited to an evening of entertainment at the Holmes Mansion, December the 24th. Guests will be arriving at eight pm sharp, and dinner served at nine. Dress code is black tie. _

_Hoping to see you there, _

_Anthea Thompson. _

'What the hell?' I say aloud as I run down the stairs and into the boy's flat.

'Okay, please tell me I'm not the only one wh-' I begin to say but stop as I notice the open envelopes in both John and Sherlock's hands.

'Bloody Mycroft.' Sherlock growls, wrinkling the paper between his hands. 'He knows how much I despise parties.'

'Black tie!' I burst out. 'What am I supposed to wear? How am I supposed to act?'

Sherlock looks up. 'Surely you've been invited to one before, what with your background?'

'Invited, yes. That doesn't mean I actually _went_ to them.' I grumble.

'December 24th.' John says. 'You do realise that's in two days time?'

'_What_?' Sherlock and I exclaim at the same time.

John rolls his eyes. 'Of course you wouldn't know what date it is today. Silly me for assuming.'

I drop the envelope and fly from the room.

'Where are you going?' I hear Sherlock shout.

'_Shopping_!' I yell back.

* * *

I spin around in front of the mirror once more, sighing at my reflection. After_ five_ gruelling hours of searching through dress after dress, I finally found my Cinderalla gown. It was a black, slim fitting sleeveless dress that pooled at my feet. From the front, it seemed a simple design, but the back was what made me spend the unspeakable amount I did. From the bottom of my neck down to my lower back is an intricate, black lace pattern. It stands out against my skin, making it appear much paler than it already is. The zip is hidden by feather - shaped sequins, resulting in a herring-bone pattern down the length of my back. On my feet are black heels, with tiny diamonds decorating the ankle strap.

I pile my hair on top of my head in an elegant bun and leave my bangs and a few stray hairs loose around my face. I keep my eye makeup simple, black winged eyeliner and mascara, but on my lips I paint a deep, blood-colour. A final spritz of perfume, and I'm ready to go.

'Knock, knock.' I hear John say at my door. 'Car's here Soph.'

'Just a minute', I call back as I pull my black silk gloves on.

I shut my bedroom door and walk out to meet John.

His mouth actually drops when he sees me.

'Wow.' He says, finally. 'You look..wow.'

I blush. 'Oh shut up. You don't look too bad yourself.'

And he doesn't. He's wearing a black suit and bow-tie, his hair combed back slightly.

He holds his arm out and I take it.

'Come on, Sherlock's waiting for us outside.'

I walk down the steps slowly, careful not to trip over my dress.

Sherlock is waiting at the car, holding the door open.

'Sometime today may-' He stops when he sees me. 'Sophia you look..' He doesn't finish, he just stares.

'Wow?' John offers.

'Er..thank you.' I smirk and climb into the car.

Sherlock and John climb in after me and the car pulls away.

After five minutes, I can't take anymore of it.

'Would you two _please_ stop staring at me? You'd swear you never saw a _dress_ before.' I roll my eyes.

Sherlock clears his throat. 'You just look..different is all.'

'I'll take that as a compliment.' I say uncertainly.

The stone mansion is decorated from top to toe. Every tree is glistening with tiny lights. A giant Christmas tree stands in the foyer, covered with delicate silver and white baubles. We're led into the entrance a vast ballroom, mirrors on both lengths of the wall. The faint murmur of voices and clinking champagne glasses emanates from the room.

'Sherlock, John!' We hear a voice call in relief. Lestrade makes his way towards us, looking dapper in a black tuxedo.

'Thank God, I've been standing there like an idiot for the last ten minutes.' He notices me and his eyes widen. 'God Sophia, you look amazing!' I blush and smile. 'Thank you.'

Sherlock places my hand on his and leads me into the room.

He sighs. 'Let's get this over and done with.'


	8. Fire, Water, Earth, Air

**A/N: The plot thickens... Enjoy and please review!**

* * *

'Ah brother, you came after all.' Mycroft smirks. 'I was sure you'd make up some ridiculous case and cancel on me.'

'Me, cancel? Never.' Sherlock smiles tightly.

He turns towards me. 'Miss Luvese, it's a delight, as always. And may I say you look ravishing tonight, I daresay you've attracted quite a few admirers.'

'Thank you, Mycroft.' I reply with a smile, though I notice a flicker of annoyance cross Sherlock's face. I ignore it. Mycroft never did anything to me, so I'm not going to dislike him just because his brother does.

'Any more news about our..problem in Holland Park?' Mycroft questions Sherlock.

'Ah, now that we're on that topic..' He leads Mycroft away and they resume their conversation in hushed tones.

Finding myself on my own, I take a glass of champagne from a silver tray and sip it while subtley inspecting the other guests. I note that I'm the youngest guest there, everyone else appears to be at least over thirty-five.

'Hello.. Sophia, isn't it?' I hear a timid voice behind me. I swing around to see a pretty woman, roughly thirty years old, smiling at me. Her long brown hair is brought over to one side and hangs in loose curls. She is wearing a simple, floor-length black dress with pearls decorating the neckline.

'Yes. I'm sorry but I don't know who you are!' I smile, admitting embarrassingly.

'Don't worry about it.' She says, extending her hand. 'I'm Molly Hooper. I work at St. Barts.'

I recognise her name. 'Ah, of course, Molly! Sherlock says you help him out quite a bit in the morgue.'

Her whole face lights up at this. 'Did he really say that?'

I smile at her, nodding my head. What Sherlock had failed to mention though, was the fact that Molly Hooper was head-over-heels in love with him. John was the one to tell me after I inquired about her.

'So what's it like, living with Sherlock? He must be driving you up the wall!' She laughs.

I join in, shaking my head. 'It has its ups and its downs, more so the latter.' I joke. 'But its been almost three months now so I'm getting used to his antics.'

We chat for another few minutes before Sherlock interupts us.

'Hello Molly. You look nice.' He smiles politely.

Molly blushes a deep red, and thanks him.

'Do you mind if I steal Sophia away from you, my brother wishes to speak with her.'

'N-no, of course not!' She turns to me, grinning. 'It was a pleasure to meet you Sophia. You should stop by St. Barts sometime and we can have a coffee.'

'Pleasure to meet you too, and I will _definitely_ take you up on that.' I reply. And I meant it. I hadn't seen any of my old friends since I moved to Baker Street, and was missing female company.

Sherlock leads me over to Mycroft, who is in the middle of a rather heated coversation with an elderly white-haired man.

'Look, there's nothing I can do at the minute Richard, her Majesty will just have to – Ah, Sophia.' He notices us. 'Yes I wanted to have a word with you.' He turns to the man beside him. 'If you'll just exuse me, Richard.' Richard looks disgruntled but walks away.

'Now, whats this about "glowing tattoos" and fainting spells? Sherlock tells me you went out cold last week.'

I sigh. 'I know you probably think I'm crazy. Sherlock says it was just me getting worked up after my tattoo, but I _swear_ they were glowing.'

Mycroft rubs his chin, thinking. 'Indeed. Sherlock also mentioned something about a dream you had? Where you were in control of the four elements?'

I wave the comment off.'Oh ignore that, it was just a silly dream.'

'Yes but you have already proven that you have sharper mind than others.' Sherlock cuts in. 'That is how Moriarty can access you, through your mind.'

'There you are!' John appears beside Sherlock and I. 'I was wondering where you two had run off to.' He turns to me. 'Sophia, you look bored out of your brains. Would you like to dance?'

'Yes, _please_.' I say, relieved. I'd like not to have to think about my problems for at least one night.

He takes my hand, leading me to the centre of the ballroom where we join the other dancers. Even in my five inch heels, John is slightly taller than me. I sigh, _some things will never change_.

'Thank you for rescuing me John. You know what those two are like once they get started.'

John chuckles. 'The pleasure is all mine.' He takes my hand and we begin to dance.

'Oh!' I say, suddenly realising something. 'Tomorrow is Christmas Day! And I haven't got you any presents!' I look appalled.

John grins. 'You're as bad as Sherlock, you know that? And don't worry about the presents. It's the thought that counts.' He jokes.

'Yes, but I still feel horrible. You're not allowed give me anything.' I warn him, wagging my finger at him.

'Mind if I cut in?' Sherlock asks from behind me.

'_John _and_ I_ are dancing.' I retort.

Sherlock smirks. 'No you aren't. John can't dance. That takes hand-eye coordination.'

I open my mouth to tell him _exactly _where he can shove his _hand-eye-coordination_, but John rolls his eyes. 'Fine, there's no use in arguing with you.' He smiles apologetically and hands me to Sherlock.

Sherlock places one hand on my waist and the other in my hand. 'Watch and learn.' He looks down at me arrogantly.

The music increases in tempo and he begins spinning me around the dance floor. I don't falter though, and match his speed. He looks down at me, surprised. 'Mum made me take ballroom dancing lessons three years ago.' I reply smugly.

It is not until a few minutes later that I realise we are the only two dancing. Everyone else had backed away and was watching us.

'Oh my God, Sherlock. Everyone is staring at us.' I burn with embarrassment.

'That's because they're impressed.' He looks down at me with a glint in his eye.

I know that look. 'Sher-' I warn him but he dips me until I'm almost touching the ground, and quickly pulls me back up again. The onlookers _ooh_ and _ahh_. Some even _clap_. I smile, pretending to enjoy myself. I look up at Sherlock. '_Do that again and I will suffocate you in your sleep tonight with your own pillow_.' I hiss under my breath. He laughs and continues to dance.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the song ends. The guests begin to clap, and to top it off, Sherlock pulls me down to bow with him. Mortified, I swiftly exit the dance floor.

'I need a drink.' I mutter and walk over to one of the tables holding flutes of champagne. Chugging it down, I turn to the mirror in front of me to fix my hair.

'My, my. What a dancer.' A voice leers.

I turn cold. _It can't be. _

There, standing behind me in the reflection, is Moriarty.

I swing around. 'What the hell are you doing here?'

'To have a little _chat_.' He smirks. 'Oh don't you scrub up well? You definitely got the looks from my side.' He mocks and walks towards me.

I back against the mirror, desperately searching the room for Sherlock or John.

'Come near me and I'll scream.' I warn him.

'Oh, well at least you're above being dramatic.' He rolls his eyes and takes my arm.

I try to pull free, pushing at his chest.

'Careful!' He exclaims, brushing his suit jacket down. '_Westwood_.'

'Now, getting to the matter at hand. Literally.' He smirks.

'What are you talking about?' I eye him suspiciously.

He begins to unbutton his shirt sleeve, and rolls it up. 'These look familiar?'

I stare, shocked. On his forearm, in a vertical line, are tattoos of the four symbols of the elements.

'They're just like-'

'Yours?' He finishes for me, rolling his sleeve back down. 'The idea came to me in a dream.' He eyes flash.

'What is going on? Why do you have these?' I burst out angrily.

'So I can do this.' He clicks his fingers and a flame appears between his thumb and index finger.

'How did you-' I begin, but he ignores me.

'And this.' He stares at a glass of champagne, and the drink begins to bubble, overflowing the glass.

'And this.' The ground beneath us starts to tremble, gently at first but increasing in strength. He stops it before anyone notices.

'And finally, this.' He looks through one of the windows. The wind increases, howling and banging at the glass. A few people glance outside. 'Looks like a storm.' I hear an elderly man say.

He turns back to me and the wind calms. 'Now you try.'

'I-I don't know how.' I stutter, still dumbfounded.

He takes my wrist and lightly runs his hand over the Air symbol. It glows silver for a split second, and returns to its usual black colour.

'There, that ought to do the trick. Don't disappoint me next time.' He points his finger at me and laughs darkly.

I glance down at the spot where he touched my wrist. Nothing appears different. I look up again to see that he has vanished. Panicking, I search the room wildly for Sherlock, catching sight of him and John near the entrance.

'John!' I shout right behind him.

'Jesus!' He jumps, sloshing champagne out of his glass. I reach my hand out instinctively and before the drink hits the ground, it turns to ice. Stunned, I look up to see John and Sherlock staring at me, astounded.

Sherlock, white-faced, grabs my arm and pulls me with him. 'Sophia we need to leave. _Now_.'


End file.
